


he made the most fantastic osso bucco

by Ijustwannaread



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, POV Outsider, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ijustwannaread/pseuds/Ijustwannaread
Summary: Klaus may have forgotten most things about the Osso Bucco guy but the Osso Bucco guy will definitely never forget Klaus.(Or, in which a lonely guy gets entangled with a younger Klaus, who is just now beginning to fall apart.)





	he made the most fantastic osso bucco

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twinfinite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinfinite/gifts).



> One of my first loves in fanfic tropes is the outsider POV fic. This got wildly out of hand, though.

 

Ira wound himself out of the throng of bodies on the dance floor and leaned stiffly against a sticky booth, lighting a cigarette. The bartender gave him a reproachful look, but Ira couldn't help but revel in how positively rebellious he felt as the smoke curled around the dimly lit room. Those tequila shots hadn't taken the edge off of thirty minutes of struggling and ultimately failing to dredge up the courage to ask someone to dance. The nicotine helped.

Ira scanned the floor for David or Yasmin, but was instantly distracted by the truly blinding sight of a wiry dark-haired man cutting up the center of the dance floor, the hideous sequins on his vest glittering madly through the sprawl. His eyes were at half mast, and everyone was giving his uncoordinated movements a wide berth, at least partially to better watch the riveting display. Ira dragged a hand over his face. In the small town he grew up in, this kind of flamboyant behavior was exactly what everyone, notably his father, always warned him was one of the dangers of life in the big city. Ira had hoped that tonight might be his first foray into an experience with a man, but somehow this one man act was reminding him of all of the reasons that he had stalled this particular exploration until his second year of medical school.

Suddenly, a glass of clear liquid materialized in front of his face, attached to his friend Yasmin. She made a “drink up” motion with her free hand.

“Prospect, ten – no eleven o'clock, “ she announced. A pit of nerves formed in his stomach. He regretted ever breaking down and telling her about his stupid sexual curiosity situation.

He downed the shot, sloppily, and attempted to track her mark.

“You mean the lumberjack guy doing a the awkward two-step?” He asked, still breathing through the nauseating sting of cheap liquor.

“If by lumberjack guy you mean the hot bearded man who is giving me serious... you know- _vibes_ ,” she said, raising a suggestive eyebrow. Ira loved Yasmin but she was laying this on so thick that it made him want to lay down on the floor of the club and let the David Bowie wannabe stomp him gently to death.

“Ugh, I don't know,” he protested.

“Oh my god, don't be so scared, it's 2013 for god's sake! Have some fun for once. Let loose.” Ira felt sour. She wasn't wrong. He was a habitual wet blanket and everyone knew it.

“Give me a minute to put this out, and then I'll see what I can do.”

“That's the spirit!” Yasmin grinned. She took a long sip of her drink, all innocent eyes and vicarious excitement.

Ira headed to the bathroom stall, and splashed water in his face. Get it together, he commanded himself.

“If it isn't our lurker,” a sing-song voice slurred over from the stall behind him. Ira spun around.

“Excuse me?” He said, feeling righteously confrontational until the graffiti-ridden stall door slammed open haphazardly, revealing none other the sequined dancing wonder boy.

“Oh, don't take it personal, there's always one of your kind around places like this. And see, I'm what you might call an expert,” he said, and Ira was sure he would have taken issue if he hadn't just become instantly lost in the man's eyes. He could tell they were a vibrant green, and would probably be even more striking if his pupils weren't crazy blown wide. Ira's own eyes moved of their own volition down the exposed plane of the stranger's chest, and his alcohol softened brain faintly reminded him that he certainly didn't require any more physical proof that he was attracted to men. He was apparently also attracted to men wearing studded platform boots and, inexplicably, lacy black Victorian gloves that went up to his elbows.

“Oh?” He said, shooting for coy but ending up with sounding like he'd just been bludgeoned over the head.

“Yeah. There are a few solutions to your problem, but this is my favorite,” the stranger smiled lovingly, and held up a joint.

Ira's mouth was dry, but not too dry to accept the offer and take a long hit.

After they shared the joint, Ira felt wonderfully relaxed. His initial attitude towards this guy felt like a funny memory. It also helped that the stranger had given him a sly once over with heavy lidded eyes, and then looked like he enjoyed what he saw. That little glance had ignited a warmth that pooled nicely in Ira's body.

“Now go get 'em, tiger,” The stranger said. They headed out of the bathroom and towards the dance floor in tandem, but halfway through their journey, their shoulders brushed for an instant and then they were entangled in each other. Eventually, they landed pressed against the wall, and that was when time began to blur.

Ira faintly heard Yasmin's wolf whistle from somewhere behind him, but the rest of the night dissolved into this stranger's stubbly lips and wandering hands, a truly embarrassing taxi ride back to his apartment, and previously uncharted territory blissfully explored. And explored again.

 

Of course, the next morning, when he blearily opened his eyes to see the pile of intricately strange black leather garments on the floor of his room, Ira had an entirely different kind of out of body experience. The oddball fashion looked like something out of a bizarre sideshow, and certainly out of context in his bland student apartment. He ran a hand over his face, and steeled himself to run through the dreaded morning-after motions. Another thing he'd never done with a man before, but he figured the script was more or less the same.

Ira rolled over, and had to conceal a start when he saw his new acquaintance wide-eyed and sitting cross-legged on top of the crumpled bedsheets, stark naked and deftly rolling a joint on a bony kneecap. Ira blinked, regrouping.

The stranger smiled at him, and waved a tattooed hand. “Goodbye,” it said.

“Morning. You mind if I smoke in here?” He waved a painted nail about the room. Ira felt vaguely faint.

“No problem.” Were those tattoos some sort of weird gang thing, like teardrops on prison inmates on tv? Suddenly, this liaison felt dangerous, although it was hard to see this naked man wearing eyeliner and curled up on his bed as any type of threat. Not after what they'd been up to last night, especially.

The stranger took a long drag, and let his eyes flutter in relief. He paused and held the joint out towards Ira.

Ira certainly did not consider himself to be the wake and bake type, but he couldn't resist taking the edge off of this situation.

As he felt the warmth spread through his limbs, it occurred to him that he had been smoked out twice by the man, and it struck him as impolite not to reciprocate the giving gesture in some way.

“Can I make you breakfast, uh...” Shit. Had he even asked this guy's name?

“Klaus.” Klaus smiled, but seemed somewhat thrown by the offer. He paused. “What are we having then?”

Ira usually had a bowl of oatmeal by himself in the mornings, but the weed had hit him quickly.

“Mmmmm. I'm feeling waffles.” He giggled, feeling ridiculous and kind of loving it.

Ira peeled himself off of the bed and felt the room tilt, either from his hangover or from the high. He shook it off, threw on some sweats and a t shirt from the floor, and made to head to the kitchen.

“Hey, you good to hang out here while I get food?” He asked, suddenly realizing he didn't know whether his roommates were in, and he didn't have the first clue about how to explain his new guest to them if they were.

Klaus nodded lazily and leaned back on the pillows, looking like a cat sunning itself in the midmorning light.

Ira blinked at the sight. This man.

He opened the door and snuck out, feeling the absurd need to sneak around in his own apartment.

Immediately, he saw his roommate James, sitting at the counter and absolutely demolishing an overflowing bowl of Cream of Wheat. James looked like absolute death, his light hair wild and greasy and dark circles under his eyes.

“Long night?” Ira asked, as he opened the freezer hoping to find some of the waffles he'd frozen from the last time he had brunch. There were four left, heavily freezer burnt but still looking like the greatest thing he'd ever set eyes on.

James did look up from his cereal, but groaned through an enormous mouthful.

“Pulled an all-nighter at the library. Massive midterm this week,” James proclaimed, finally looking at Ira, disapprovingly. Ira popped the waffles in the microwave oven and felt indignant.

“Don't you have exams, or does your genius brain just magically retain everything?” James asked. Ira crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watching the timer ticking slowly and praying for escape. Exam season always turned James into a surly piece of work, but usually commiserating over shared stress evened him out some.

“I went out last night. Everyone deserves a study break here and there,” Ira said. Sure, he normally did hermit up during exams but at least he wasn't as insufferable about it as his roommate. James might be allergic to a good time, but not him...

James scoffed.

“Guess you had quite the study break, then,” he said, using a tone that made Ira wish he had showered before coming to the common space. Was there something in his current appearance that screamed “ I just popped my guy- on-guy cherry last night”? It felt like there might be.

Thankfully, the waffles finished with a sharp ding, and Ira threw them on a plate and made his escape. He slammed his door to make a point, but knowing James it would go right over his head.

Other than putting on a pair of brightly colored briefs, Klaus was right where Ira left him. He had exchanged the joint for a cigarette, and Ira began to wonder how he managed to keep conjuring up so many smokes for how skimpy his clothes were.

Ira held up the plate of waffles like a royal offering, and Klaus smiled blindingly.

They both sat on his bed and took a bite, then simultaneously made the most dramatic groan of pleasure as they experienced the sweet bliss of morning carbs.

“You a student?” Klaus asked, mouth full. He was looking at the truly appalling assortment of thick medical textbooks.

“Yeah, second year at med school,” Ira said, flatly, glaring at his unopened books.

“That's so sweet. I thought about being a doctor once when I was a kid, but then I moved on to wanting to be a taxi driver. Seemed like more fun to talk to people who aren't mostly unconscious...” Klaus said. Ira gave his tattoos a dubious glance. He couldn't help but pull a wry smile at the thought of this guy being a doctor.

“What, you don't think I'd make a good doctor? I'm very nurturing,” Klaus pouted theatrically. Ira just huffed a laugh.

“Honestly, I think you'd probably make a better one than me,” he said. Ira's brain froze for a second. Why did he say that? Before this conversation, he hadn't even been able to voice his doubts to himself, let alone a near-complete stranger.

“Why thank you, sir,” Klaus said, putting a hand to his face to look regally bashful. “But why do you think you would be anything less than the best?” He looked at Ira with those wide, curious eyes.

“It's just pre-clinical is so technical, you don't get to do anything ever. Like, I just feel like I'll be great at acing tests and shit but then you could put a patient in my face and I'd have no clue what to do.” Ira said. And that was just it.

Klaus finished his last bite and looked thoughtful.

“I'm sure all the people stuff - that'll be a breeze. See, I never even went to college, but one of my friends let me stitch him up once after he got into a fight, some real piece of work hit him while wearing a big old ring that just took a chunk clean out of his face– not pretty – and I just got out an old thread and needle. I mean I almost stitched his cheek to his shirt, but it all worked out in the end... If I can do that, you'll be so, so good.”

Ira didn't know what to make of that story. A lot to unpack, there. He opened his mouth, hoping for some sort of reply to materialize, when he realized that Klaus was shivering.

“Hey, are you cold? I can close the window or turn the heat up,” Ira said.

Klaus blinked, not seeming to understand the question.

“Oh that?” He said, looking down. “Yes, I'm so very cold. Maybe you could warm me up somehow?” He gave that look that Ira was now beginning to call his “come-hither” look, the one where he looked at him through those eyelashes. Ira was dumbstruck by how something so utterly corny and frankly straight out of a cheap porno could have come out of Klaus' mouth, but the bigger question was why it worked on him.

So they spent an embarrassingly long time making out like eighth graders. Eventually, Ira realized that it was past noon and he hadn't studied at all. In fact, he'd all but forgotten he was attending medical school.

What was more, he realized he didn't want to tell Klaus to leave. For some reason, he felt like Klaus was some type of mythical woodland creature, the kind you encounter once and then the magic breaks and it vanishes forever back to whatever made-up world it came from. And he didn't want Klaus to vanish forever. He was a great lay and incredibly diverting at that. Ira wanted to wrap him in soft blankets like a newborn kitten and keep him forever.

So, he asked him to stay the night.

And he kept asking.

 

Two and a half weeks later, Klaus had stayed over every night but two. Ira had come to some more conclusions. One, his new “friend” was single handedly ruining his grade point average. Two, he didn't really care. Three, Klaus was always high.

It had been a difficult conclusion for Ira to arrive at, because it meant that plenty of his college education had been wasted on him. Klaus displayed all the signs that he had learned to look for in his Abnormal Psychology class, and Ira had overlooked each one in turn.

While Ira did Normal People things during the day, like go to class and eat lunch and talk to his friends, Klaus disappeared to somewhere that Ira couldn't convince himself was a regular day job. When he showed up at night, he would be relaxed and languid, sometimes entirely hazy.

When Ira strung the pieces together, he wondered why it took him so long. He had even managed to suspend his disbelief when he had caught Klaus pop a pill in the bathroom and upon asking what it was, he had said “Oh- birth control.”

In retrospect, the bastard must have known that would throw him off the scent. Just another non-sequitur from a guy who turned oddity into some kind of sport.

Maybe, Ira realized, he had been totally right when he said that he didn't know how to translate words heard in lectures and read in textbooks to actual real life. He could read about “drug-seeking behavior” and “addictive personalities” all his life, but when they manifested in his room with a physical form, he was none the wiser.

But then, he realized, this is it. He had a chance to make an actual difference for once.

When Klaus crept into his room that night, padding quietly to avoid detection from his roommates as part of the unspoken agreement of clandestine behavior, Ira tried something. Klaus had just draped himself decadently on his unmade bed when Ira changed their rhythm.

“I made dinner,” he said. Klaus' eyes widened, as though Ira had just surprise proposed to him during a major sporting event.

“Fabulous,” he said with gravitas, but he took a cigarette out of his pocket and hastily lit it. “Do tell, what will the chef du jour be serving tonight?”

Over the days they had spent together Ira had noted the hollows in Klaus' cheeks and the way that his liberal eyeliner failed to fully distract from the darkness around his eyes. He had wanted to make something hearty.

“Heard of osso bucco?”

“Mmmm no. Sounds delightfully fancy though,” Klaus said.

“My grandmother used to make it,” Ira said, hating the fact that he felt his face heat up.

But Klaus's eyes got soft around the edges, so Ira started to feel more confident.

“That's so sweet!” He said, and, unlike most of the hazy ridiculousness that came out of his mouth, the words seemed completely genuine.

“It's on the stove. Come on, then.” Ira said, and then grabbed Klaus' cold hands and hefted him easily into a standing position.

“Hey, now!” Klaus complained, while clearly enjoying Ira's sudden initiative.

“Nope,” Ira immediately rejected his attempt to lean in for a kiss and pulled him by the hand towards the kitchen.

Both of his roommates were in the living area. James was deftly juggling his instant ramen and a video game controller, and Anya was pouring a comically large glass of rosé while flipping through piles of class notes. Exactly what Ira would expect for a Thursday night.

“And who's this?” Anya asked as soon as they walked in. She waved and mouthed a quick “hey” to Klaus. Her cheeks were already liberally flushed, so Ira chose to excuse her lack of tact.

“Klaus, meet Anya-” he pointed to James' slumped form on the couch- “and James.” James craned his head awkwardly, not noticing his character getting brutally shot in the head within the game for his sudden interest in Ira's acquaintance.

“Oh, I think I may have um, heard you around here before,” she choked out around a laugh.

“Well, enchanté. I hope that my physical presence lives up to the auditory,” Klaus replied, unfazed.

“Yeah, pretty much,” she said, and gave him a very obvious once over, clearly noting the purple mesh crop top and his generally disheveled aura.

“Oh my god,” Ira groaned. “Want something to drink?” He opened the liquor cabinet, praying for some respite from this hell. Maybe offering alcohol was counterproductive to his mission, but he certainly wasn't going to survive the night without it.

“Dealer's choice,” Klaus said, and Ira poured them both a generous gin and tonic.

Thirty minutes later, after both a second drink and a decent helping of Ira's dinner, Klaus was strewn across the couch next to James, loudly and dreadfully attempting to learn the video game while James looked on in horror.

Anya leaned over and stage whispered to Ira.

“Where exactly did you find this guy?”

“That dive bar off of 5th and Main?”

“He's crazy,” she said appreciatively. Ira's heart swelled.

“And pretty hot to be honest. Can't believe _you_ reeled him in. I didn't even know you were into dudes.”

“Yep,” Ira said. They were silent for a moment.

“But, like, do you know what you're doing? No offense, but he seems pretty fucked up, Ira,” she said, even more quietly. Ira felt defensive.

“What makes you say that?”

“Did you see how much he already drank tonight?”

“What?” Ira thought back. “We both just had a couple drinks. That's not crazy, I mean you're one to talk,” he hedged.

“You must have been too busy drooling over him to notice. I counted four, at least.” Anya, in typical fashion, easily dismissed Ira's lame jab and laid it out for him. He honestly tried to consider it, but it didn't seem to fit.

“What? When exactly?”

“When you weren't looking, genius,” Anya said. Ira let out a long breath. Once he really gave it a chance, it didn't seem too surprising, really. He just hadn't wanted to believe that gentle, spacy Klaus might be that duplicitous.

“I think I can help him,” he said.

“Okay, sure.” She said, sipping her drink and watching Klaus again, like she was a prison guard and he was a wily inmate.

Ira didn't care if everyone thought he was crazy, too. As he fell asleep that night, still sticky from their latest run fueled by Ira's grandmother's hearty Italian fare, he felt like he might be living in the real world at last.

Of course, the real world had a funny way of rearing its ugly head the second you let your guard down.

A few nights later, he and Klaus were smoking cigarettes in his bed and watching Project Runway. Ira wasn't paying attention, and began thinking about his grandmother's meatballs, and how she said they could cure any ailment. Sure, Ira believed in modern medicine, but he was already compiling a grocery list. His grandmother had been a shrewd lady, and he couldn't help but believe her blindly. He took in a long breath, missing her with a sudden intensity.

“What did you say your grandmother's name was?” Klaus asked. Ira thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He looked over, and saw that Klaus, too, wasn't watching the show, his eyes focused instead somewhere in the corner of the room. Ira felt goosebumps travel up his arms.

“I didn't,” he said. “What made you think of that?” He asked, needing to reason away the coincidence.

“Oh, she just sounded like a really nice lady,” Klaus said, closing his eyes painfully and blowing out smoke. Abruptly, he unfurled out of Ira's bed and went to the bathroom, muttering something unintelligible.

Ira shook himself a bit, wanting to immediately overlook the strangeness. This was just Klaus, he was always weird and inexplicable. Why should this be any different?

Klaus returned quickly, and flopped down so dramatically on the bed that Ira made an undignified start. He burrowed into Ira's side, and he started to feel more at ease with the affectionate gesture.

They continued to watch the show, and Ira found himself pulled into the reality tv drama.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump from the other room, and the sound of James yelling.

“I'll never understand this goddamn bullshit!”

Ira felt as though he had jumped a foot in the air, but Klaus didn't react.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Ira muttered, hating his melodramatic roommate and his loud academic angst.

“Shit. Sorry about him,” he said to Klaus, who once again made no indication that he heard anything. Something icy hit the pit of Ira's stomach.

“Klaus?” He asked, his voice thick. Klaus looked asleep, but Ira had slept next to him for days now and knew he was the lightest sleeper. Ira put a hand on his face, giving a gentle nudge. Klaus's face was cold and unmoving.

“Oh no,” Ira breathed. He took shaking fingers to Klaus's neck, pressing in and searching for a pulse. He slid over and really looked at Klaus. Was he even breathing? It was hard to tell.

He tried to think back to various First Aid training sessions, his CPR certification. What was he supposed to do? Why was he cracking under this pressure?

“Anya!” He yelled. She was an EMT. She was supposed to do stuff like this?

“Ugh, what?” She called, rooms away.

“I need you to get in here, now!” He said, his desperate tone enough to warrant her quick appearance.

She pulled at his door handle and he realized that it was locked, so he absolutely flew across the room to pull it open, almost tripping on his loose sweatpants in the process. Anya's face went white went she saw his expression.

“It's Klaus,” he blurted.

“Fuck,” she said, and walked over and grabbed one of Klaus's limp wrists with a swift efficiency. In the brighter light from the hall, the blue tinge to Klaus' face was more apparent.

“Jesus, what do we, what-” Ira babbled. Anya withered him with a look.

“Get the goddamn phone! We need to fucking call an ambulance,” she hissed, and Ira sprung for the landline.

“I'm trying to see if he's breathing,” Anya said while Ira attempted to get his fingers to find the correct buttons to dial 911.

The phone miraculously dialed.

“911 operator, what's your emergency?”

“Uhh, I think my friend overdosed on something,” Ira stuttered.

“Okay, where are you?” Ira listed his address, still trying to wrap his head around the face that he was even making this call.

“Okay, the paramedics will be on their way. Please stay on the line.”

“Okay,” Ira said, nodding at Anya's questioning look and hoped she'd understand.

“Are you with the patient now?”

“Yes.” Ira said, and tried to mouth, “is he breathing?” to Anya.

“Okay, you should hear sirens soon. Is your friend completely unresponsive?”

“I think so,” Ira said, around the growing lump in his throat.

“You should hear sirens soon, will you be ready to lead the paramedics to you?”

“Yes,” Ira said, determined knowing he could at least perform that task.

Once the help arrived, Ira lapsed into feeling like it truly was something out of a medical show on tv. He and Anya stood in the corner of his room while the professionals took over, giving Klaus oxygen and lifting him off the bed, and then whisking his limp form away.

Ira faintly heard them tell him where they which hospital they were taking him to, and their questions about whether he had family to call.

Family? Ira didn't know. He didn't even know Klaus' last name, come to think of it.

Anya slumped into a chair.

“Jesus, Ira. Jesus.” She ran her hands through her long blonde hair.

“I...” Ira had no words.

They sat in stunned silence. Ira continued standing even though his legs felt like jelly, because somehow his bed felt tainted after being the site of Klaus' near death moment.

“You should go to the hospital,” Anya said. Ira felt angry out of nowhere, and exposed. The last place he wanted to be was at the hospital, but Anya had boxed him in. There was no way of declining without sounding like a horrible person.

He tried to remember where they had said they were taking him, but his brain was offline.

“Where, again?”

“Baystate General, I think,” Anya said sharply.

As if on autopilot, Ira reached for Klaus' heavy black coat, rummaging through the pockets.

“What the hell are you doing?” Anya demanded.

“I'm looking to see if I can find a number or something to call.”

Ira had to shake off the feeling that he was being incredibly invasive as he searched, but the feeling passed quickly when he realized that the pockets of the coat were remarkably empty, free even of the crumbs or wrappers that almost certainly existed in any of his own clothing. It was only when Ira spotted the deep inner pocket on the inside lining that he found a small plastic baggie with an assortment of little white pills. Ira shuddered.

“Find anything?” Anya asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

 

–

Thirty minutes later, Ira walked into the front entrance of the hospital and felt as lost as he'd ever felt in his life. He wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans as he stood in line for the reception desk, wondering how in the hell he was going to find Klaus. Luckily, the receptionist was kind and didn't question his lack of salient information other than “my friend Klaus who just OD'd.”

The woman looked at her screen, brow furrowed.

“We have a Klaus Hargreeves who was just admitted from the ER. You must be his brother?”

“Um, no? I'm a friend, I was with him before...” he trailed off, weirded out by the assumption that he was Klaus' brother. He most certainly was not.

“You'll want to head to the second floor, room 221. The elevator's that way,” she said, gesturing where to go. She was giving him a keen, searching look that made him even more uncomfortable. Why did she seem so knowledgable and interested in this case?

He headed towards the elevator, fully not sure what to expect. The most time he'd spent in the hospital was when his grandmother had died, and he had been surrounded by family. Now he was alone, and not even sure he belonged here.

He made his way down the hallway, looking at the numbers on the walls and almost hoping that 221 would never appear.

Of course, reality was here to stay, and room 221 came right after room 220, and there was Klaus. He wasn't in a private room, but his thick dark hair stood out like a beacon against the pale white sheets. In a pale green hospital gown and with his eyes closed, Klaus didn't look at all like the person Ira had spent so much time with over the past weeks. He looked exactly like what Ira had been fighting so hard not to see: a drug addict.

But around the oxygen mask and the wires and the IV, Klaus still had his charcoal smudges of eyeliner, and a faint, mysterious glitter in his stubble. Ira's heart felt tight with fondness, and it surprised him with its intensity.

But he only had a moment alone before a tall, built man wearing a light blue uniform strode in the doorway, and came to a fast halt at the foot of Klaus' bed.

“When he wakes up, I'm gonna kill him,” the man muttered as soon as he laid eyes on Klaus' prone form. Ira started to panic for the umpteenth time that day. He eyed the door and was contemplating a hasty exit when the man turned a fierce look in his direction, with some fire in his eyes that made Ira want to throw his hands in the air and say “I'm innocent, I swear!”

“Who the hell are you?” The guy barked. Ira immediately felt like he was in the middle of an interrogation, ready to break.

“I'm Ira – Klaus' friend, I, uh, brought him in?” he stammered.

“Okay, Ira. I'm his brother, Diego. I need you to tell me whether he was using any illicit drugs,” he said, crossing him arms and somehow looking even more intimidating.

“I don't know,” Ira said.

“Bullshit,” Diego retorted. Ira felt lightheaded. What kind of dark movie script was his life now following? Was he going to be in trouble? Who would have even thought Klaus would have some kind of cop for a brother.

“Seriously, I don't know what he was on-”

“You really expect me to believe that?” Diego said, stepping menacingly close.

“Diego, leave it.” Ira and Diego both turned towards the doorway to follow the new voice, where a petite woman wearing a baggy, monochrome outfit stood.

“Vanya?” Diego said with surprise. He dropped his shoulders. Whoever Vanya was, Ira was instinctively grateful she was here.

“Do you know what happened?” She asked, looking over at Klaus pensively.

“He does,” Diego said, pointing an accusing finger at Ira. So much for the welcome distraction.

Vanya looked at him with wide, sad eyes, and then stuck out a hand.

“I'm Vanya Hargreeves,” she said.

“Ira,” he replied, wary. Even though he hadn't known him for that long, Ira couldn't recognize a single facial feature or mannerism that would ever suggest that either of these people were remotely related to Klaus. He started to wonder if this was all an elaborate social experiment in which he was the test subject, and at some point a man in a white coat would jump out and declare how fascinating his reactions were to their strange ploy.

“Vanya, if whatever he took was illegal, he could be in real trouble,” Diego said.

“I don't need to be in the police academy to know that. But our brother just almost _died_ , so could you drop it for a second, please?” Vanya said. She never raised her voice, but it became progressively tighter as she spoke. Diego looked ready to retaliate but lost for words, so Vanya turned to address Ira again.

“How do you know my brother?” Ira started sweating, having not prepared a solid word for their relationship.

“I met him almost a month ago, we're friends, but- look, I'm a med student, I'm really not mixed up in anything, I mean I didn't even know - ”

“It's okay,” she said, even quieter still. She shot a look at Diego.

Diego looked at Ira like he had grown a second head.

By some stroke of luck, there came a staccato tapping on the doorway. At last, a doctor had swooped in to save them.

“You must be the family?” She asked, shortly, and shuffled through the medical charts at the end of Klaus' bed.

“We are,” Diego said, leaning towards Vanya and obviously emphasizing that Ira was not a member of that party. Ira decided to take the hint, and made his way out.

Once outside, however, he couldn't manage to walk away. He paced the hall in ten foot bursts, overhearing snippets of the conversation, including something about, “complications” and “respiratory distress” and “multiple drug interactions.”

Soon, a couple of nurses came into the room, and seemed to displace the siblings. They shuffled into the hallway and suddenly, the three of them were standing in the hall, watching through the blinds as the nurses took blood and checked monitors.

The air was different. Diego seemed deflated, and ran his hands through his short hair. Vanya seemed transfixed by the sight of her brother through the glass. Her eyes were shining with brimming tears. Weirdly, Ira started to feel like they all belonged to some tragic club for people who loved Klaus and were now facing the consequences.

“Did- did you understand any of that?” Diego asked wearily.

“Not really. What should we do?” Vanya looked at her brother searchingly.

Ira, emboldened somehow by how miserably lost they looked, stepped up.

“I can help,” he offered. Diego, for his part, looked skeptical but cocked his head as if to say, “go ahead, I'll try anything.” Vanya just stared.

“Look, I was serious about medical school. If you tell me what the doctor said, I can explain a bit,” he said.

Until the nurses finished their rounds on Klaus, Ira rattled off everything he knew from classes about overdose situations, including the possible complications he might have overheard them talking about He told them as much as he of what he knew had happened while carefully editing out an personal details. He told them that his friend who had helped was an EMT, and that Klaus had had the best chances, given the circumstances. They both seemed to relax marginally, and Ira felt like he was finally contributing something meaningful. It felt good.

They were just all reaching a quiet moment of contemplation when one of the monitors from the room over started to make a shrill beeping sound.

They all immediately leapt into the action, darting into the room to in time to witness Klaus pulling at one of the many wires attached to him.

“Stop that- hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Diego yelled, reaching to grab Klaus by the wrist before he yanked out another line. Vanya was desperately scanning the area for any sign of assistance from the nurses, none of whom were in sight.

“Diego? What a perfect time for a reunion,” Klaus said, ineffectively attempting to swat off his brother's advance.

“That's not funny, Klaus,” Diego said. Klaus slipped out of Diego's grip and started pulling at the tape on his IV. Mid tug, he caught sight of Ira, who was standing helplessly by one of the blaring monitors, extending his hands in a “woah there” gesture for lack of any useful action to take.

“Ira?” Klaus said, with a tone of pleasant surprise as though they had just run into each other at the grocery store. He blew a kiss in Ira's direction with his one free hand.

“Mr. Hargreeves, I have to ask you not to interfere with your monitors-” One of the nurses had finally arrived on the scene. A second nurse pushed some buttons and managed to wrangle one of the monitoring machines to stop the background cacophony.

“Look, it's been really fun here and all, and I really appreciate what the color of this lovely gown is doing for my eyes, but I think I should see myself out.” Klaus threw his ridiculous puppy dog eyes at the nurses, who both looked mightily unimpressed as they attempted to undo the damage.

Ira started to wonder if maybe Klaus did actually lose brain cells from lack of oxygen.

“Calm the fuck down,” Diego said, pushing Klaus down by the arm even more roughly. “Don't make everyone here's job harder.”

“You know I can't be here,” Klaus pleaded, looking between his siblings anxiously, as though they were supposed to take meaning from that and suddenly release him into the wild. He started breathing heavily, and then turned towards one side of the room, taking a shaking hand to shield his view of the other half.

“The doctors stay you need to stay here,” Vanya said, placatingly. One of the nurses eyed Klaus and then clandestinely paged for a doctor.

“Okay, okay,” Klaus breathed. He eased back down onto the bed, slack against his brother's grip. Diego cautiously released his hold. Ira and Vanya both took unconscious steps backward in relief.

Then suddenly, Klaus suddenly sprang into action anew. He launched himself towards the side of the bed closest to the door. However, his legs rebelled and folded underneath him, and he immediately landed in an sprawl on the floor. The movement on the line of his IV pulled its metal pole to the side with a crash, and Ira narrowly dodged its path. Vanya stepped back, her hands flying to cover her mouth as she watched, frozen in horror. Diego scrambled to intercept Klaus as he tried to regain traction in his escape attempt, but then he caught sight of the needle of Klaus' IV slip out of its covering and a trail of blood flow down Klaus' arm. Diego's face went white, and he listed to the side. One of the nurses pulled at his shoulders while the other nurse made for Klaus.

Klaus continued to flounder for the exit even though the mildly incapacitated Diego flanked closely by the nurse blocked his way. At last, the doctor rushed in. She took one look at the pandemonium afoot and switched to crisis mode.

“I need 2.5 mg of diazepam,” she commanded, “Everyone, clear the room,” Ira and Vanya managed to pull Diego by the arms and lead him out of the mayhem. Ira cast one last glance into the room to see a nurse sticking Klaus with another needle. One of the other nurses was holding him back, but it was clear he was already fighting a losing battle even before the drugs hit his system.

The three of them collapsed into a set of chairs in the hallway. Diego placed his head between his knees and breathed. Vanya shook like a leaf and stared at nothing.

“Are you okay?” Ira asked Diego.

Diego breathed sharply out of his nose like a bull from his position. He looked up at Ira, and enough color had returned to his face to look truly frightening again.

“Can you get lost? I don't know who the fuck you are to my brother but just beat it!” he spat. Ira could have told him an entire lecture about the psychology of aggression, and about projection and violence.

But instead, he did what he was told.

 

When Ira returned the next day, with Anya in tow for much needed backup, he wasn't surprised to find out that Klaus had already checked out AMA. He didn't see either of his siblings there.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love any and all comments! :)


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